Guarding Celestial Nymph
highlight_author
Toria Blue
highlight_reads
226K
highlight_chapters
50
Things in the Woods
Alpha's Second Chance Nymph Spin-Off: Guarding Celestial Nymph
DANICA
There I was, perched in my mustard-yellow uniform. The overhead lights flickered, a bug trapped inside, while the laughter of two colleagues on their lunch break echoed in the background.
The police stationâs waiting room was sparsely populated. A homeless man, a woman in a mini skirt and a police storage sweater with smeared makeup and distant eyes, and two underage kids who looked like they were in over their heads.
The kids were probably first-timers, terrified of the unknown. Regardless of their crime, theyâd likely get off with a warning, even if it was their tenth offense. The mayor was all about preserving the townâs reputation, so minor vandalism was often overlooked.
I knew these people.
They might not have known me, but I knew them. I had a knack for observing people, like the homeless man, Creed. His last name was a mystery to everyone, including me.
Creed was old, his forehead wrinkles so deep they folded over his eyebrows. He was a town wanderer, often striking up conversations with random people. Despite the harsh judgments from others, he never seemed ashamed of his life.
I sensed there was more to him than met the eye. Sure, he reeked of alcohol, but he seemed in control. I wasnât even sure if he was truly homeless or if that was just a label the town had given him.
His drinking seemed more about staying warm than enjoyment. Creedâs long beard hid his short neck, and his bushy eyebrows seemed to have a life of their own. He always wore gloves, regardless of the weather.
When he looked my way, I quickly averted my gaze, catching a mumble under his breath.
I wasnât exactly a town favorite. People knew I existed, but that was about it. Throughout school, I was the outsider, the one they called âorphan.â It stung at first, but eventually, I accepted it.
I did have a foster mother, though, Celeste Moore. She was an energetic old lady with a touch of craziness.
I never understood why she wanted a foster child. I never felt the maternal love from her that Iâd read about in books. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to, someone to fill the silence in her house.
âDanica Moore,â an officer called from across the room. I acknowledged him with a nod and made my way to his office.
âPlease sit down,â Mr. Wilson instructed. âA few weeks ago, you reported public harassment,â he began, causing my eyes to roll.
I brushed off his statement. âWhy is this such a big deal that you had to pull me out of work?â I asked, frustrated. âAnd for the record, I didnât file that complaint.â
He leaned back in his chair, arms resting on the table. âYour mother is a dear friend of mine,â he said calmly.
âFoster mother,â I corrected him. I felt the need to clarify that. I didnât know what it was like to love a mother or to be loved by one. I didnât know my parents, only that they had given me up. I often wondered why. Was I too much for them? Did something happen? Or did they simply not want me? The thought of being unwanted was perhaps the hardest to bear.
âSo, she lodged a complaint about you being bullied by your peers,â he stated. Ms. Moore was always the epitome of overprotectiveness in my life. She didnât love me, I was certain of that, but she did take care of me and ensured that nothing harmed me.
It wasnât as if I was constantly the butt of jokes, it was just that one time when my old classmates got drunk and decided to pester me near my house. Naturally, Ms. Moore noticed and went into full protective mode.
âIâm a legal adult. I can decide whether to complain or not,â I retorted.
At twenty-five, I was still living with my foster mother. She was overly involved in my life, which I despised, but I never had the courage to confront her about it. It wasnât like I had any other place to go. And I didnât have any other family. Neither did Ms. Moore.
âThey didnât even do anything, just said a few nasty things, nothing I canât handle,â I said, causing Mr. Wilson to lean back with a sigh. I had even seen them recently at a store, they didnât even acknowledge my presence, they just walked past me.
I noticed several files scattered across his desk. Mr. Wilson looked exhausted. âIs everything all right?â I asked, trying to decipher the labels on the files.
âItâs confidential,â he replied. Mr. Wilson was somewhat of a friend to me. We would chat whenever we bumped into each other outside the police station. He knew a fair bit about me and I about him. He was married to Coraline and had two sons; their life was far from perfect with occasional infidelities, but they somehow made it work.
âIf you ask me about it, if I have seen anything around, itâs part of the investigation,â I said, smirking at him and leaning back in my chair. I knew he enjoyed a good gossip and wouldnât pass up an opportunity to share details about his latest case. It was probably his worst professional trait, but I used it to satisfy my curiosity.
âAll right then,â he said, settling more comfortably in his chair. âHave you seen anything strange in the woods?â he asked.
âI donât go there, what about it?â I responded.
He shrugged. âNot sure. Some people have reported strange occurrences there and gathered signatures for us to investigate. Theyâve seen some odd-looking people and wolves. Unusually large wolves,â he said, causing me to raise my eyebrows and laugh dismissively.
âWhatâs the big deal about it?â I asked. âWolves live in these forests, howling has been reported. And peopleâŠthey are just weird,â I said, knowing there was no limit to human oddity.
âI donât know. Something is unsettling them and weâre trying to figure it out. There are some who claim that supernatural beings are living there,â he said, clearly not buying into the superstitions of the older folks.
âWhat supernatural beings?â I laughed at the absurdity.
âI donât know, some mythical creatures,â he said, causing me to laugh harder.
Didnât these people realize they were wasting their time and the policeâs? If they truly believed something was there, then they should just avoid the area. Some people just couldnât live without drama.
I stood up. âWell, good luck catching those dragons and vampires,â I said jokingly.
âMs. Moore is a good woman,â he added before I could open the door. âShe just wants whatâs best.â
I nodded forcefully, eager to leave.
âTake care, Danica.â
I stepped outside into the early evening, knowing I needed to get home. It wasnât like I had a curfew, but for as long as I could remember, I had a sort of aversion to the dark, not literally. When it got darker outside, I would get severe headaches and a ringing sound in my ears.
I wanted to see a doctor to figure out why I was like this, but Ms. Moore dismissed it as no big deal. She said my mother had the same problem. She claimed it was an incurable condition and there was nothing I could do about it.
But I was worried and went to the doctor anyway. The scans showed nothing. I was as healthy as a horse.
I consulted multiple doctors. They all commended my health. But I couldnât comprehend how such excruciating pain could be normal.
I just had to live with it, with no cure to alleviate it.
I hurried home, my steps quick and determined. The headache was creeping in, and while home wouldnât offer relief, it would at least provide solitude.
As I stepped through the front door, Ms. Moore was there to greet me. She approached, her hair neatly coiled into a bun, her body adorned in a sleek black dress and glittering jewelry. She always looked as though she was on her way to a swanky dinner party.
âYou shouldnât stay out that late,â she chided, her tone more concerned than scolding.
I shot back, âI wouldnât be out late if you hadnât made a fuss about those boys.â
She shrugged, her lips pursed. âI didnât care for them,â she admitted. âTheyâre always causing trouble. Just last month, they littered my yard with empty beer bottles.â
In reality, it was just one bottle, discarded carelessly by a drunken passerby. But that was Ms. Moore for youâher loneliness had a way of magnifying the mundane.
âNext time, just say you donât like them. Donât make my life more complicated,â I retorted, shrugging off my jacket and hanging it in the hallway closet.
âIâm just looking out for you,â she replied, her voice softening.
I rolled my eyes at her. âI donât need you to. Iâm an adult. If youâd let me, Iâd be out of this house in a heartbeat. Just let me live my life,â I said, my voice firm.
Iâd been itching to leave since my eighteenth birthday, but Ms. Moore always insisted she needed my help because of her age. I knew it was just an excuse to keep me around. Despite her age, she was probably the healthiest person in town.
âWhere would you go?â she asked, her tone teasing. She was never cruel, just confident, always carrying herself as though she were superior to everyone else.
âAnywhere. I earn enough to support myself. I can take care of myself,â I replied. My job didnât pay much, but it was enough for a small apartment. I didnât need muchâjust warmth and a bed.
âWhy do you even need to work?â she asked, gesturing around our lavish living room. âWe live in a castle. We have all the money in the world,â she declared, her voice filled with pride.
âYou have all the money. I donât,â I corrected her.
She raised her eyebrows at me. âMy money is your money. I wonât be able to spend it all. When Iâm gone, itâll all be yours,â she said, settling onto her plush, dark blue velvet couch.
I had no idea where her wealth came from. All I knew was that her bank account seemed to have an endless supply.
I smirked at her. âYour money wonât make me stay,â I said. âIâm here because you asked me to, begged me to.â I knew there was more to it than that, but sheâd never admit it.
Ms. Moore just chuckled and patted the seat next to her. I complied, sinking down beside her.
âThere are things more important than money,â she said, her gaze amused. âStars are worth more than anything to both of us,â she said, her expression hardening. I had no idea what she was trying to convey.
âStars?â I asked, my eyebrow raised in confusion. âWhy the obsession with stars and the sky?â
She smirked again. âYou donât understand yet, but you will. I hope you will,â she said, her voice filled with excitement. Most of the time, I didnât understand her or the cryptic things she said.
I just hoped I wouldnât end up like herâobsessed with the stars and slightly mad. Maybe it was inevitable, living in this town and with her.
With a sigh, I folded my arms across my chest. Her obsession with the cosmos was borderline insane. She was so enamored with the stars that every inch of our house was adorned with them. It was a charming sight, but a bit over the top.
The rooms were all painted a deep blue, mimicking the night sky, and she never really explained why she was so drawn to it. âYouâre really into all this celestial stuff, arenât youâŠ,â I began, but she cut me off, standing up with a gleam in her eyes.
âYou said it.â She pointed at me, grinning.
I squinted at her. âWhat?â I asked, confused.
âCelestial, you used the word,â she clarified.
âYeah, I know the word,â I retorted. âI did go to school, you know. Iâm not completely ignorant,â I added, irritated by her childish behavior.
âIâve never heard you use that word before!â She was way too excited about nothing.
I rolled my eyes and left the room. She was odd, in a good way, but sometimes she was just too much.
âGoodnight, Ms. Moore,â I called over my shoulder, choosing to ignore her previous comment.
âSleep tight, Danica,â she replied, her voice filled with laughter. I knew she wouldnât be going to bed for a few more hours. Sometimes, she even ventured out at night. I had no clue where she went.
Could she be meeting a lover? Or conducting some secret business?
I stepped into my bedroom. The four walls were a dull gray, but to appease Ms. Moore, one wall was painted a deep blue, adorned with star constellations. I didnât despise it. I thought Iâd grow tired of the stars, but I never did.
In fact, I grew to appreciate them, but Iâd never admit that to her. She already believed I was as starstruck as she was. I didnât want to give her any reason to think I considered this place home. It was a house, not a home, and Ms. Moore was hardly a friend.
It was strange to think that you could share a life with someone and still view them as a stranger.
She didnât make this place feel like home. She was cordial, but even after all these years, I still addressed her as Ms. Moore. I thought that with time, Iâd be able to call her by her first name, Celeste.
If she asked, I suppose I would. She never indicated that she minded me calling her Ms. Moore. She never even wished me a happy birthday.
Whenever I asked about her past, sheâd skillfully change the subject. She was an enigma, a stranger.
I finally shrugged off my scratchy uniform and let my raven-black hair fall from the tight bun. I never liked tying my hair up, but my job demanded it.
The house was eerily quiet, as it usually was. Sometimes, if I left the window open, I could hear the distant howls of wolves.
But when night fell, the silence was almost haunting. My condition had deteriorated over the years. Now, I couldnât even leave the window open.
I feared the day when the pain would become unbearable. Iâd tried countless remedies, but none worked. I suffered from chronic headaches that I was certain would be the death of me.
Some nights, the pain was so intense that I contemplated ending it all. The thought wasnât far-fetched, considering I didnât have anyone to consider. There was only Ms. Moore, and she was merely an acquaintance.
There wouldnât be much mourning if my headaches decided to end me. I didnât have a single real friend. Perhaps it was for the best that I didnât have any friends.
How could I ever explain the chains on my bed?
